


Prologue: Better Than

by snowpuppies



Series: Good { Better { Best [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-19
Updated: 2009-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred is rescued from Pylea, but has she jumped from the frying pan into the fire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue: Better Than

  


  
  
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**Better Than**

 

She struggles for air, her breath whistling through her nostrils as she mouths at the gag.

Her jaw aches.

Well, everything aches, really, but then it would, seeing as how she's been tied in this position for…several days, as far as she can tell, spread-eagled on the bed, naked and exposed to the chilly apartment, and her arms and legs are cramping from the lack of movement.

And she'd really like to use the bathroom.

 

***

_There's a woman in the entrance to her cave._

_A woman._

_She thinks it's a woman—it's been a long time, really—but she's there and she's wearing a suit—a suit, in **this** weather?—and she's smiling…well, mostly…sort of…in a way that's kinda a little bit more than creepy, but she's a real-life person and now that she thinks about it, the woman is probably a hallucination and she really should eat some more, but tree bark really doesn't taste like tacos and there really aren't that many trees nearby anyways and—_

_"Winifred Burkle?"_

_—And oh! That's her name! Winifred Burkle is **her**. She's filled with joy at the sound of her name on another's lips, but as soon as the feeling rises, it sinks; of course a hallucination would know her name—it came from **her** brain, after all. But she can't lose the feeling that perhaps this isn't just another example of wish-fulfillment—after all, if she were going to imagine a rescuer, it would be someone less…creepy, a big, strong, handsome man to sweep her off her feet and back into the world she knows—so she crawls forward, legs tensed to spring away at the sign of a threat, fingers outstretched…_

_…and touches **skin**._

 

***

Her stomach growls and she shifts restlessly—if she doesn't eat soon, she thinks she might go mad.

That might be a welcome change, now that she thinks about it, but then she remembers her cave, and the madness that crept into her mind, seeping into the edges like mold, until she could barely remember where she was, where she'd come from, her own name…

No, madness would not be welcome, not again.

No more.

She stares at the mirror on the ceiling—the silver has peeled off around the edges, making small black figures that she studies diligently in her time alone; there's a flower in the top right corner and a mouse wearing a toupee about half-way down the left side.

Her attention is drawn away from the mirror as the lock clicks in the front door, and like Pavlov's dog, she begins to grow wet.

 

***

_"…is Lilah Morgan, and I represent…"_

_She studies the paper—paper! Real paper!—in her hands, trying to make sense of the letters. A contract. She knows what that is, but somehow the letters are all scrambled and they don't make much sense and she searches through her brain for some kind of key, some formula that will turn the letters to numbers that will make some sort of sense that she can add together, find the constant, accounting for friction and drag and did she remember to adjust for negative spin?_

_"If you'll just sign right there…"_

_Lawyers. She'll work for lawyers? That wouldn't be so bad—she could probably run statistical analyses on the client base and study each lawyer's case history for patterns and mistakes and Oh! She could even help in accounting—she's very good with numbers, and if they'll only get her out of this place, this cold and horrible place full of evil green monsters that starve her and beat her and keep her trapped—trapped!—and even just a bite of real food, and maybe she could even taste a real taco again and it would be so wonderful—_

_"I'm sure we can manage some tacos, Winifred."_

_Oh! She didn't realize she'd been talking out loud. She'd been doing it for so long—trying to make the sound of her own voice substitute for her lack of human contact—but it doesn’t matter, and Lilah doesn’t seem to mind, still smiling that creepy smile—and it's just awful of Fred to think that sort of thing, the woman's here to rescue Fred after all—so she takes the pen from Lilah's hand…_

_…and signs her name._

 

***

The smell of spicy taco meat fills her nostrils.

She can almost taste the melted cheese, the ripe, juicy tomatoes, feel the crunch of the shell beneath her teeth…

She doesn't think she's ever wanted anything so much.

"Mmmm. Smells good, doesn't it?"

So she does what she's asked, because she's a good girl.

A really good girl.

And good girls get real food—like crunchy, yummy tacos—and warm blankets to cuddle under at night and sometimes they even get to get up and go to a real bathroom instead of using a pan or a cup.

"Good. You know what to do."

And she wants so badly to be a good girl, so she uses her tongue, her chin, even her nose, burying herself between Lilah's legs, slurping and lapping up the sweet wetness there—she'd been so thirsty, before—hiding her wince as Lilah pulls her hair, arching up into Lilah's touches, fucking herself on Lilah's fingers when they're offered.

Good girls get rewarded.

"You _do_ like this, don't you?"

Before, there was no reprieve, no salvation, nothing she could do to stop the hunger, stop the fear, stop the loneliness.

Now, all she has to do is be a good girl.

"That's right, eat me, you little bitch!"

Well, it's better than being a cow, anyways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
